


Baile de Muerte

by bittenfeld



Category: I Spy, I Spy (1965)
Genre: Brutality, Gen, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 23:43:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4325391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittenfeld/pseuds/bittenfeld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kelly and Scotty are investigating a powerful mysterious man in Spain, Don Antonio Martinez, when brutal attackers break into their hotel room at night to drug and kidnap Kelly for a vicious vengeance plot.</p><p>Final – Chapter 3 (unfinished):  Creeping over to a window, Scott peered into the room through a crack at the bottom of the shade. Inside, Robinson was alone, spread-eagle on a bed, muttering to himself and impotently twisting the ropes that bound his arms to the bed-posts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Kel!”

The whisper roused Kelly Robinson instantly. From the other bed across the room, Scott’s urgent whisper hissed again, “Kel, wake up!”

“I’m awake,” Kelly mumbled, glancing over his shoulder toward the voice in the darkness. “What’s up?”

“Shh – someone’s out in the front room.”

Cautiously Robinson swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, as Scott slipped to the bedroom door and opened it an inch. With a flick of his hand, he motioned Robinson over, but the Caucasian was already at his side.

Through the crack they could see the thin beam of a pencil flashlight dart about the blackness. Several figures moved around the room as quietly as possible, but then a foot accidentally kicked a chair, and a warning hush countered, “Ten cuidado!”

Suddenly the overhead lights flared on, and a quiet voice greeted, “Surprise!” The smile on Alexander Scott’s face looked friendly, but the Colt **.** 45 automatic in his fist was dead serious. “Slumber party’s over, fellas – time to go home.”

As they stared at Scott, a fist from behind the bathroom door clubbed one man over the head, and he slumped to the floor.

Stepping out from the shadows, Kelly retrieved his victim’s Luger, and grinned amiably. “Why aren’t you kiddies home in bed? It’s probably way past your bedtime, and your mommies will be very worried. Now, if you’ll just tell us where you live, we’ll…”

Abruptly the cough of a silencer interrupted him; and with a tight gasp, Scott spun into the wall. His **.** 45 dropped from nerveless fingers.

Sharply Robinson’s Luger swung up toward the line of fire, his body rigid in battle-mode.

Around him, several other guns cocked ready. And all were aimed at him.

“You can take one of us, señor,” the man to his left allowed, “but you cannot shoot us all.”

To the side, Scott moaned, sliding down the wall, holding his bloody right shoulder. Robin­son flicked one quick glance to ascertain the black man’s status, but held his aim, and retorted, “One of you is all I need.”

“There need be no more bloodshed, señor,” the visitor suggested gently. “We only wish for you to come with us.”

Momentarily Robinson hesitated, his cold wary gaze shifting from his partner to the intruders. “What are you talking about?” he snapped. “Come with you where?”

“You will find out.”

Gritting his teeth against the pain in his arm, Scott frowned up from the floor. “Well, why couldn’t you just ring the doorbell like everyone else?”

But the man only shrugged. “We thought perhaps you would not be very receptive at this time of night.”

“No,” Robinson agreed tightly. “No, we’re not very receptive at this time of night. And especially not to unmannerly kidnappers who break into our room uninvited and start waving guns around.”

“Put down your weapon, señor,” the man suggested. “Or we will shoot you both. We were told to bring you back with us. But I for one do not care if we must report that you were accidentally killed in the struggle. Do you wish to cause your friend’s death?”

For a moment Kelly didn’t move. Then in an apparent change of heart, he laid his gun down on the floor. And suddenly dropping to his haunches, he snapped an elbow back, doubling one man over, and the grabbed for the Luger again.

Action exploded. A boot kicked him in the wrist, then bodies clambered in on him. He fought back, until another cough of a silencer – and Scott’s cry – snapped his head up.

Scott sprawled across the floor, another hole bleeding near the first in his wounded shoulder. As the startled gazes of the two Americans met, Scott’s eyes widened in alarm, and he cried out: “Kel!...”

Before Kelly could turn, he was grabbed and held. A hypodermic needle jabbed into his arm. Desperately he struggled to free himself, but the grips held him firmly until all of the fluid was squeezed into his muscle. Desperately he fought for purchase, fought again the overpowering crush of several attackers. His chest heaved, breath dragging in ragged gasps. “What the hell was that? What did you just do to me?” he demanded.

“Hold him,” the one who had injected him ordered the others. “The drug will take effect very quickly.”

Still Kelly struggled, but now fighting against the warm rush crawling up his arm from the injection site. It slipped up his neck into his head, trickled down his armpit into his side, his chest. Like a trapped animal, his heart suddenly leapt, thudding inside his rib-cage. A whirl of warm fog touched the edges of his mind. “What did you do to me?” he demanded again, gasped between clenched teeth.

Then a hand grabbed his hair and wrenched him to the floor.

Eyes blazing, Robinson tried to push himself up. The floor slipped out from under him. Ang­rily willing his body to respond, Kelly crawled to his knees, and was pulling himself up by a chair, when a charge of pain surged up from his belly. With a moan, he doubled over, gagging on bile.

“Kelly!” Scott yelled, and despite his own pain, tried to get over to his partner. But before he could clear the first man in front of him, two more shots smashed him back, while Robinson watched on helplessly.

“You were foolish, señores,” the gunman said, slipping his pistol inside his coat. “This could have been accomplished with much less violence, had you simply coöperated.” Then with a jerk of his head to his companions, he ordered, “Take Señor Robinson to the car.”

With a casual kick, one rolled Scott away, then they grabbed Robinson up under the arms and dragged him to the door. Limp from the drug, Kelly offered no resistance to the brutal manhandling, but watched Scott’s motionless form on the floor, until their captors closed the door between them.  
* * * * *

Their destination turned out to be a large hacienda on the outskirts of town. By the time they arrived, the dawn sun was tingeing the distant mountains pink.

At the prod of a gun barrel, Kelly clambered out of the car, twisting his arms against the bite of the handcuffs into his wrists, his legs shaky but holding.

The crisp cool morning air helped clear Robinson’s head of the drug fog and eased his sto­mach. He’d vomited twice in the car. They’d have a hell of a time cleaning the stink out of the up­holstery, and that thought at least gave him a little satisfaction.

A guard armed with an automatic rifle unlocked the iron-wrought gate, and right then Kelly decided to try a desperate escape attempt. With a wild backward kick that bruised one man’s shins, Kelly launched himself forward toward the thick growth across the driveway. He had no idea what he was going to do once he reached it, with his hands locked uselessly behind his back, but at least if he could just hide, he might have a fighting chance.

Someone yelled in Spanish not to kill him, and that struck him as odd, but he didn’t waste any precious seconds trying to puzzle it out. The trees were so close now. Just a few more yards –

From out of nowhere, a rifle barrel cracked him over the skull, and as he started to crumple, a heavy butt rammed into his belly. With a gasp of pure agony, he collapsed, then the mob was on top of him, kicking and pounding roughly. While several men held him flat on his back, two others be­gan smashing away at his face and stomach. Futilely he tried to pull away, but someone grabbed a fistful of hair and punched him in the mouth with such force that Kelly’s head thudded back against the gravel driveway. Abruptly the scene exploded into a firework of stars, and he was sure they’d killed him, until from out of the distance a woman’s voice interrupted in English, “All right, boys, that’s enough.”

For a moment the sound caught him off-guard. It was a low, sultry feminine voice with just a trace of a Spanish accent, but definitely American-educated. Instantly the beating stopped, and Kelly was hauled to his feet and dragged before his rescuer.

She stood just a few inches shorter than his 6’1 frame, a blonde blue-eyed Spaniard like Kelly had heard of, but not seen before. She was probably around his age, give or take a year, and ravish­ingly beautiful.

Her gaze slipping over him still clad only in his pajama bottoms, she suggested to one of the bouncers, “You’re about the same size as Señor Robinson, Ramon. Why don’t you lend him some clothes? I’m sure he’d like to freshen up anyway. Bring him to the library when he’s ready.”

Still dazed from the attack, Kelly watched her stroll away, then two men grabbed his upper arms and roughly pushed him forward.

In a small room just off the villa, Robinson shaved, showered, and dressed while Ramon and one of the other guards stood by. The borrowed T-shirt and slacks were a little tight, but Kelly wasn’t in much of a position to complain. After tying the borrowed shoes, he paused before a mirror to comb his hair and check a cut on his temple. He suspected that the fight might also have loosened a tooth, and one or two ribs felt sore, maybe cracked.

Catching the reflection of Ramon in the glass, Kelly commented, “What’s this all about, amigo? You got any ideas, or are you just a trigger-man for the gang?”

Lazily the Spaniard stretched out on the bed across the room, and ignoring their prisoner, began toying with the 9 mm Beretta in his fist.

“I mean, if you don’t want to talk, that’s okay,” Robinson continued. “I guess they didn’t hire you for thinking, did they? All brawn – no brains.”

Black eyes flashed up, and a very precise “Shut up!” snapped back.

Kelly grinned tightly. “So, our man has a temper, does he? Well, don’t worry. Someday, if you’re real good, you might even make it to the head of the litter squad, instead of having to go out in the middle of the night and kidnap honest tourists.”

“You are a spy, señor. You killed a man in cold blood.

Abruptly the grin dropped from Kelly’s face, and his lips tightened. “So did you.”

Now the Spaniard began to smile. “Ah – your friend, Señor Scott. He was very foolish. What Vitório said was true: we did not intend any bloodshed. But your friend insisted on getting himself killed. It is a shame.”

Slowly Kelly stiffened and his eyes closed at the thought of his partner. He could hardly accept that Scotty was dead, but he’d lain awfully still on the floor seeping red onto the carpet, the last Kelly had seen. Angrily he smashed a fist down on the bureau top.

“Now who has a temper, eh?” Ramon retorted with a taut grin. The Beretta rose and Ramon sat up on the edge of the bed. “If you are ready now, Señor Robinson, the señora would like a chat with you.”

Without a word, Robinson strode out, followed by the two gunmen.

Almost sadistically the pistol barrels prodded Kelly in the kidneys as his escorts urged him down long corridors in the old mansion. When he half-heartedly resisted the brutal treatment, a hard shove between the shoulder-blades sent him stumbling, and he almost tripped.

From her chair across the sitting room, the blonde looked up as Kelly was pushed in roughly by the pistol jabbing him in the small of the back. Slouching indifferently, Kelly glanced down over his shoulder. “Okay, tough guy, you can cut the play-acting. You got me here safe and sound, so why don’t you just buzz off?”

Viciously the barrel smashed him in the spine, and with a sharp gasp of pain, Kelly collapsed to his knees, hiding his bruised back tightly.

The woman was smiling when he looked up slowly, and with a pleasant nod, she greeted, “Good morning, Señor Robinson. I gather that you and Ramon aren’t quite getting along.”

“We’ve had our differences,” Kelly commented dryly, climbing to his feet. “Otherwise, he’s a fine boy.”

A tiny laugh parted her lips, then graciously she offered, “Please sit down. Would you care for a drink? – a cigarette?”

“No thanks – I’ve already been on the receiving end of your… ‘gifts’,” Robinson muttered, toy­ing with the large cut-crystal cigarette lighter on the table between them.

“Ah, yes, the drug,” she acknowledged. Helping herself to a cigarette from a silver box on the table, she leaned forward for Kelly to light it, then settled back in her chair. “I’m sorry for the incon­venience, but it was necessary at all costs to bring you here. You see, you murdered my husband.”

If she’d expected a huge reaction to her announcement, she didn’t get it, for Kelly’s eyes only registered mild curiosity. When he didn’t respond, she continued, “We must see to it that justice is done.”

“The score is already settled, Señora.” Taking a cigarette himself, Kelly picked up the lighter again. “Your punks killed my partner.”

“I think you’re mistaken,” the woman commented, and this time Kelly did react. “Vitório told me about Señor Scott. He didn’t kill him. If he’d wanted to, he would have, but he didn’t.”

Slowly Robinson settled back in the large overstuffed chair and crossed his knees, mulling over the woman’s words. A veil of smoke drifted from his nostrils. “Well, all right, Señora,” he finally asserted, leaning forward to knock the ash off his cigarette into a very modernistic ashtray, “let’s start at the top, why don’t we? Who was your husband?”

Now the woman raised a gently arched eyebrow. “Don Antonio Martinez. Have you killed so many people that you don’t remember them all?”

“No,” Kelly breathed. “No, it’s not that.   But while your husband was trying to blow up Scotty and me, he didn’t take the time to introduce himself over tea.” Coolly he watched the haze of smoke floating up to the ceiling. “How did you know about me?”

The blonde lifted the gentle sensual curve of a shoulder. “Why everyone knows of Kelly Robinson, the, uh, ‘tennis champion’.”

His lips twisting into a tight cold grin, Kelly contemplated his cigarette. “And that’s it, Señora?”

“Señora,” Ramon interrupted. “He has already admitted his guilt. So why do we not just take him out right now and…”

Sharply the woman turned a reproving glance on the gunman. “That’s enough, Ramon. You’ll have your chance later.” Then to Kelly, she explained, “Please excuse Ramon’s impatience. You see, he respected Don Antonio like a father figure, and so is very eager for justice to proceed. You can understand.”

Robinson only shrugged mildly.

The blonde rose. “I must leave for a few days on business, so we’ll have to postpone the matter until I return. In the meantime, I shall leave Ramon and Luis to entertain you. I hope your accommodations meet with your approval.” As Kelly stood up, she strolled over to him. “Oh, per­haps you’d like a little breakfast after such an exerting night. Luis, have the cook prepare a large helping of ham and eggs for our American guest.”

As the guard left, Kelly mentioned to the lady whose appraising gaze studied him, “You don’t seem too broken up over your husband’s, uh, untimely demise.”

Ruby lips only smiled. “It’s no secret that we were not the closest of spouses. Do you know, Señor Kelly, you’re a very handsome man?”

“I’ve been told that, Señora Martinez.”

“Call me Lucia,” she insisted. “Please.” Softly her hand brushed his cheek, before she stepped to the door.

Kelly watched her until she disappeared, then with a smile he strolled over to the dark gun­man. “Well, how are we feeling today, Ramon? Not quite on top of the world?” Amicably Robin­son moved closer until the Beretta was just a few inches from his stomach, then started to remark, “Y’know, amigo – “ Suddenly without warning, his hand shot out and grasped the slide of the auto­matic before the startled Spaniard could fire, then twisted the impotent weapon out of the man’s fist. “You should be more careful with your toys, compañero. If your papa found out you were playing with real guns, he might spank you.”

“Señor…” the younger man panted, his eyes blazing defiantly.

But Kelly still smiled, ignoring Ramon’s anger. And stuffing the pistol into the waistband of his trousers, he pulled the T-shirt down over it. “Well, if you promise to be a good boy, I won’t tell him this time. But be careful next time. Just remember how easy I can take it away from you.”

“There will not be a next time, Señor.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear it.” Then holding the door open for his bodyguard, Kelly invited, “Would you like to join me for breakfast now?”

Without a word, Ramon strode out, followed by Kelly smiling very congenially.

They didn’t pass anyone on the way to the dining room until a guard appeared at the end of the last corridor. Gently slipping an arm around Ramon’s shoulders, Kelly hissed a soft warning into his ear: “If you do one thing wrong, amigo, I’ll drop you. You dig?”

Ramon didn’t answer, but tensed under Kelly’s firm grip.

As the guard passed them, Robinson smiled with a warm, “Buenos días, señor!”; and drop­ping one hand to the bulge at his waistband, tightened his grasp imperceptibly on Ramon’s shoulder.

“Buenos días,” the guard acknowledged, glancing over the pair quickly. For an instant his eyes met Kelly’s, and although he said nothing, Kelly suddenly sensed a faint change of expression.

He waited until the man disappeared around a corner, then twisting Ramon’s flesh under his hand, accused softly, “You tipped him off, didn’t you?”

Ramon’s face tightened in pain, and beneath his breath, he pleaded, “No, señor! I do not!”

“I think you lie, amigo.”

“No, señor, please!”

Gripping the Beretta at his waist, Kelly conceded, “Well, all right then, if you say so.” Then before the young man could turn around, Robinson clipped him across the skull quite coolly with the barrel, and the man collapsed senseless to the floor.

Kelly didn’t know how long it would take for the guards to catch up with him, but if he could just make it outside, he’d have a good chance of escaping any searchers. He’d been trained for that kind of thing, and the fact that he was still alive after two years of intelligence work proved that he had to be good at it.

After dragging the limp Ramon into a hidden little nook, Kelly hastily glanced about himself. A maze of hallways surrounded him – one of which led to the front door. If only he could remember which one. Mentally he flipped a coin, then gripping the Beretta tightly, slipped into the right-hand corridor.

A noise caught his ear, and he flattened against the wall as Vitório strolled around the corner, whistling to himself. Abruptly the Spaniard caught sight of Kelly, and eyeing the Beretta in his fist, raised his hands over his head.

Robinson would bluff if he could. He thought of Scotty slowly bleeding to death in their apart­ment, and right then he wondered how many shots were left in the clip. As far as he was con­cerned, he had a perfectly good excuse to cut Vitório in two. Tightly, under his breath, he snapped, “Turn around and get against the wall.”

Without a work, Vitório slowly obeyed, and Kelly reached out to pat him down. But before he could touch the gunman, something hard suddenly cracked him over the back of the head, and bonelessly Kelly dropped to the floor. The last thing he saw before passing out was the small black hole at the end of Luis’ rifle aimed between his eyes.

* * * * *

 _to be continued_...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His captors stood around him, watching him disinterestedly, as one might stare at a side of beef. Blankly Kelly watched the group; then Ramon, seated on the edged of the bed with the Luger, slapped him in the mouth again viciously.

A hard slapping brought Kelly to groggy consciousness, and as he stared up through dim eyes, he could still see the barrel levelled on his head. Several moments passed before he realized the rifle had shrunk down to a 9 mm Luger, and he was back in the little room off the villa, bound flat on his back to the bed posts.

His captors stood around him, watching him disinterestedly, as one might stare at a side of beef. Blankly Kelly watched the group; then Ramon, seated on the edged of the bed with the Luger, slapped him in the mouth again viciously.

“You are a murderer, señor,” the young man accused, and struck him on the side of the face with the gun. The barrel gashed a cut on Kelly’s temple. “You are also a spy, and you know a great deal of important information.” Again the pistol smacked him in the face, and Kelly could taste blood and steel on his split lips. “You will answer our questions. You will tell us everything we want to know.”

With a grunt, Robinson twisted away from the brutal blow of the Luger, then managed in a low murmur, “Go to hell.” The barrel cut him over the eye.

“Who are the other agents in Madrid?”

Kelly turned away. Savagely the automatic struck him on the jaw, then Ramon leaned down close to his face. “If you coöperate with us, we might forget that you murdered Don Antonio. Tell us all about the American spies in Madrid.”

Slowly Kelly’s senses settled, and his mind was beginning to clear from the vicious blow of Luis’ rifle butt. Stripped to the waist, he was tied spread-eagle on the bed with tight rope that almost cut off the circulation in his hands and feet.

“Y’know,” he breathed through set lips, “the señora probably won’t be too happy if anything happens to me before she gets back.”

Ramon rose from the bed. “I believe you are mistaken, señor. But you may complain to Señora Martinez when she returns in a few days. Until then, we are to entertain you. And we shall entertain you well.”

“With a friendly little execution?”

“Oh, no, señor.” An ugly grin twisted Ramon’s mouth. “We will not execute you. You will not die as quickly as Don Antonio. That would be too easy for you.” Lazily he strolled around the bed, then grabbing a fistful of Kelly’s hair, jerked his head back roughly. “No, your death will be very slow. And very painful.” Then contemplating the half-naked figure helpless before them, he removed his belt and rubbed his fingers over it almost caressingly.  
* * * * *

Slowly the haze thinned out over Alexander Scott’s muddled brain as somewhere, far off in the distance, someone called his name. At first he wanted to ignore it and just drift back into the painless world of unconsciousness. But the voice sounded urgent, and then something patted his face gently. With a great effort, he forced his eyes open into the bright daylight of a hospital room.

“Welcome back, Scotty,” a pleasant voice greeted. “Did you know, you’ve been asleep for over twenty hours. I wish I could be that lucky sometimes!”

Slowly Scott’s eyes focussed on the smiling face of Russ Conway, his and Kelly’s superior, standing over him, and through dry lips he managed, “Russ… what happened?... where… where am I…?”

“Don’t try to talk,” the older man urged gently. “You’ve been through a lot in the past few days. Your contact found you in your apartment with a couple of bullet wounds, so he got you on a plane to Washington and called us. You had two slugs in your right shoulder, and a crease on your forehead. The doc got ‘em out, and he’s been keeping you doped up for awhile.” He smiled again. “But it’s all over now, and the only thing that matters is that you’re still among the living.” With a sudden frown, he reached into his breast pocket. “Oh, your contact found this in your apartment and thought you’d probably not want to lose it.” And fishing out a small item, he pressed it into Scotty’s hand.

It was a man’s ring, a translucent black stone fitted on a heavy gold band – Kelly’s ring. Probably during the scuffle it had fallen off.

With his partner’s name on his lips, Scott tried to sit up, but a sudden jolt of pain and Russ’ restraining hand on his chest checked him halfway. “Kel…” he breathed. “Where’s Kel?”

“We don’t know,” their superior told him. “The contact says he couldn’t find him.”

Weakly the black man lay beck on the pillow and closed his eyes. “They’ve got Kelly.”

“Who does?”

“I… I don’t know.” Restlessly Scott twisted. “Couple of guys… broke in… drugged Kel and… shot me… I don’t know who… who they were…”

Comfortingly Conway squeezed his arm. “It’s all right. Don’t think about it anymore. After you get out of here in a day or so, you’re going on vacation.”

“No…”

“I want you fully rested and back on the job in three weeks. Why don’t you fly to the Baha­mas?”

“No… Kelly…” Stiffly Scott pushed himself up. “Kel’s in trouble.”

Conway smiled. “I could make it any order, but you’d probably pretend you didn’t hear me.”

The thought of Kelly’s danger seemed to help clear Scott’s mind. “Look, Kelly is my partner, and he’s in trouble. I’m going after him.”

Still the superior tried to dissuade him. “You’ve been hit on the head, Scotty, and you’re not thinking straight. Now, your injuries have cost you a lot of blood and if you tried a rescue mission alone, you might not make it back. You know I don’t want to lose Kelly any more than you do, but I rather lose one than both of you. We’ll talk about it in a couple of days.”

“Russ, in a couple of days Kelly could be dead, if he isn’t already.” The argument had started up a throb in Scott’s head, and he pressed a hand to his brow. “You can try to stop me, but I’m going to bring him out.”

Again a tiny smile played on Conway’s face. “Believe me, Scotty, I know how you feel. When my partner was in trouble, I’d want to go after him, just like you. And many times there were orders I’d feel like not hearing.” Resting a warm hand on Scott’s arm, he finally conceded. “Well, come to my office as soon as you’re released, and we’ll see.”  
* * * * *

But the day of his release found Scott on a jet bound for Spain. Without any leads, it would be tough knowing where to start. He didn’t know the name of the contact who had found him and taken over the mission; they hadn't learned anything about their mysterious assignment, Don Anto­nio, who was probably somehow involved; and if he was, there didn’t seem to be any chance that he would have left a calling card.

But Scott had to start somewhere, and their hotel seemed the best place.

Yes, the manager remembered Kelly and him, yes he had noticed the damage to the room, and yes he would accept the full amount of compensation in cash. But no, he hadn't seen or heard the in­cident, because it had happened at three o’clock in the morning, and like any decent citizen, he had been asleep in bed. Of course.

In case the kidnappers had just taken Kelly to another hotel, Scott checked around, but no luck. Then came bars, restaurants and cafés, but evidently no one matching Kelly’s description with three ugly bodyguards had dropped in for a bite to eat in the last five days. Of course, five days is a long time, and so many people come and go at a restaurant, that it would be difficult to remember one particular party. Naturally.

Perhaps a doctor had treated Kelly as a drug-overdose patient. That meant visiting every cli­nic and every private practitioner in Madrid, which would take at least three days – and that was only if he was lucky.

By the end of the day, Scott was no more enlightened about Kelly’s disappearance that he’d been a week before. No one seemed to recall a good-looking American with three Mafioso-like companions. And five days _was_ a long time…

The only thing he had picked up – and he and Kelly had noticed it several days before when the whole caper had begun – was that the name of Don Antonio Martinez always seemed to stir up some sort of waves. Mention it, and you’d suddenly get the feeling you’d uttered the unutterable name of a supernatural being who was going to strike you dead with a thunderbolt. People moved away like they’d just gotten wind of the plague, and all cheerful conversation would cease.

If he’d had anything to do with Kelly’s kidnapping, it was like hitting a dead end, trying to find out.

But now it was late, and Scott’s shoulder was beginning to act up again. Russ had been right about one thing: he wasn’t in any shape to be chasing all over Madrid yet. And with his gun-arm still in a sling, he could only pray that any assailants would be courteous enough to allow him a few extra moments to get his pistol with his other hand. He knew he should have been keeping in prac­tice for left-handed shooting, but somehow he just never had the time to get around to it.

For the night he’d go back to the hotel, then get a fresh start in the morning. Madrid was a bigger city than one would imagine, if one were trying to cover every inch. With one-third down and two-thirds to go, Scott would need a good-night’s sleep.

The proprietor didn’t mind serving him again, as long as he promised there’d be no more wild nights. He took a different room, though – even though the blood stains had all been cleaned up now, there were too many bad memories in that room which couldn’t be cleansed so easily.

As he bathed and turned down the bed, a new thought struck him: while he and Kelly had spent a lot of fruitless efforts trying to learn who Don Antonio was, Don Antonio’s people obviously had no trouble learning their whereabouts. Perhaps it was a good thing that Scott had dropped the man’s name a lot this day: he might have midnight callers to whisk him off to the same place where Kelly was being held. At least it was one way of finding his missing partner.

A knock on the door interrupted his contemplation; and retrieving his automatic from the hol­ster on the bed underneath his folded coat, he called out, “Quien es?”

“Maria,” a child’s voice answered.

With a relieved smile, Scott opened the door, careful to block the view of his gun. “Buenos días, Maria,” he greeted. She was a little ten-year-old serving girl with whom Kelly had made friends during their stay.

Brightly she returned his smile. “Buenos días, Señor Scotty. You were asking about Señor Kelly today?”

“Yes, that’s right.” He knelt down to her level. “He’s gone and I’m looking for him.”

“I know – I saw the men who went somewhere with him. I saw Señor Kelly go down the stairs with them.”

Smiling warmly, he took her hand. “You should have been in bed. It was too late for little girls to still be awake.”

“But I could not sleep.” Her eyes grew wide as she spoke. “I heard some noises, and when I looked out of my room, I saw four men with Señor Kelly coming down the stairs. They did not see me, and I was going to speak to Señor Kelly, but then I was afraid other people might wake up, so I said nothing.”

“Well, that’s good, honey.” Gently looking into her eyes, he urged softly, “Now, do you know who the men were with Señor Kelly?”

“I do not know their names, but they live in a big house in the country. I know, because many times they ask me to bring cakes and cheese to the house.”

“Where is it? Do you think you can tell me how to get there?”

The little girl pointed north. “It is out there very far away, on Santo Domingo Avenue. When I ride my bicycle, it takes me all morning to get there, and I do not return home until lunch.”

“How big is the house? Uh, what color is it?”

“It is a white house and it is very big. There is a fence all around it and a gate, and there is a big statue of a horse in front of the gate. A man comes to the gate and takes my cheese and cake. I do not like him. He has a gun.”

Fondly Scott stroked her hair. “Muchas gracias, Señorita Maria. You’ve helped Señor Kelly and me very much. Oh here’s something for you.” And taking a little change from his pocket, he pressed it into her hand. “Now, tomorrow, you go buy yourself something, okay? Maybe a pretty ribbon for your hair.”

The little girl’s face glowed with excitement. “Oh, Señor Scotty!”

“And I want to see it when I come back, now.”

She beamed. “Oh, sí, Señor, Scotty. Oh, mil gracias!”

With a smile, he watched as she ran down the stairs, gripping the coins tightly.

* * * * *

 _to be continued_...

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Creeping over to a window, Scott peered into the room through a crack at the bottom of the shade. Inside, Robinson was alone, spread-eagle on a bed, muttering to himself and impotently twisting the ropes that bound his arms to the bed-posts.

The large white house stood amid a clearing in the trees. A high wrought-iron fence surrounded the grounds, and at the gate – with the requisite horse-statue in front – stood a uniformed man with an automatic rifle.

Scotty parked the car several hundred yards from the gate, and approached by foot, hidden in the heavy brush. The pistol rested easy in his holster.

Beneath the bright light illuminating the gate, the guard lit a cigarette. He had heard a car’s engine, but it was gone now, and he was too tired to investigate. Besides, his duty was to guard the gate, so as long as the car was not in view, he didn’t have any responsibility. He glanced at his watch, then leaned back against the concrete post and exhaled a breath of smoke. Twelve-fifty-one – nine more minutes before his replacement arrived.

“Uh, pardon, señor,” a voice from out of nowhere spoke with a blatant American accent; and with a jerk the guard wheeled around, almost bumping into the husky black man standing beside him.

“Buenas noches, señor,” Scott greeted, smiling pleasantly. “Uh, my car stalled down the road, and I, uh, wondered if you could kinda give me a hand with it.”

“I am sorry, señor,” the guard declined stiffly, embarrassed at being taken unaware. Self-consciously he gripped his rifle tighter. “What are you doing on this road? This is private property.”

“Uh, yeah,” Scott chuckled. “Well, y’see, I’m looking for a friend’s place. I’m a tourist from America – Americano, eh? – and I must’ve taken the wrong turn-off. And then my car just stopped dead on me. I think I got the address right here” Fumbling for his wallet with his injured limb, he almost grasped it, but it dropped from his fingers, and he grinned. “Guess I’m pretty clumsy.”

The guard leaned over to pick it up, and has he did so, the barrel of Scott’s pistol smacked him sharply over the head. Without a sound, he crumpled to the dirt. Then slipping the automatic back into its holster, Scott took the guard’s keys and unlocked the gate.

The house was big, all right, Maria hadn't exaggerated that. It stood two-stories high with at least forty rooms. Kelly could be in any one of them – or none at all. First, Scotty would walk the perimeter to see what he could see, and then decide where exactly to break in.

But before he got within twelve yards of the villa, he could already hear Kelly’s incessant chatter emanating from a small room off the east wing. A light inside cast silhouettes on the window shade.

As Scott started to move closer, a noise suddenly alerted him, and he lay back just in time. A man ran by within a couple of yards, but didn’t see him. Dashing up to the room, the man knocked on the door until it opened, then let off with a torrent of Spanish and a lot of gesticulation in the direction of the gate, that brought two men rushing out. One paused to lock the door, then followed his comrades.

Scott waited until they had disappeared, then creeping over to a window, peered into the room through a crack at the bottom of the shade. Inside, Robinson was alone, muttering to himself and impotently twisting the ropes that bound his arms to the bed-posts.

With a quick glance about, Scott sneaked around to the door, sing-songing as he went, just loud enough for Robinson to hear, “Never fear, guess who’s here to save the day…!”

Abruptly the muttering ceased, then Kelly hissed out, “Hey! How come you’re always so late?”

“Late?” Scott whispered, fiddling with the keys he’d taken off the dazed guard.

“Late!”

He tried a key, but it didn’t work. “What are you talking about, man? I’ve never been late in my life.”

“Oh yes you have. You are late, m’man.”

“I’m not late.” Scott could only hope that one of the keys would work.

“Yes you are,” Kelly re-asserted from inside. “And what’s more, your timing is off!”

“What d’ya mean? I’ve got perfect timing.”

“Well, then, where’ve you been for five days, while I was getting tortured and all? I was even beginning to think I’d have to rescue myself.”

“Well, it might be good for you, once in awhile – thinking up your own escape plan.” Finally one key fit. “Y’know, if I keep coming for you every time, your brain’s gonna turn to jelly. One day you’ll wake up and – phhttt! – no more brain.” Pushing the door open, Scott stepped into the room. For a moment he ignored his partner tied on the bed, while his gaze took in the surroundings. “Man, so this is how you travel when I’m not with you: private bath, silk sheets, a room with a view…”

“Bath, view, yes. Silk sheets, no. And five very friendly bodyguards.” Suddenly lifting his head from the pillow, Robinson frowned at his partner. “Hey, whadd’ya mean, anyway? This hasn’t been any picnic, sir. No, man, while I’ve been gettin’ tortured and all, you’re the one with the private bath and the nice clean quiet hospital room, and lettin’ the taxpayers provide you with filet mignon every night, and everything.”

“Well, not exactly.” Scott reached a hand up to his arm in the sling, then busied himself with Kelly’s ropes. “Y’know, man, your friends are real nice guys.” And eyeing his partner’s bruised face, he urged, “Hey what happened to you?”

Robinson cleared his throat uneasily. “Well, uh, that comes with the free bodyguard service.”

Scott assisted him to sit up. “Well, c’mon. If you wanna be rescued, we better be on our way.”

“Not so fast, señores,” a new voice interrupted, and the pair jerked up. Ramon stood in the doorway, the deadly Luger in his fist pointing at Scott’s head. “It is too bad, señor, that you went to all that trouble uselessly.”

“Oh, uh, Scotty,” Kelly smiled, “I don’t believe you two were ever formally introduced. This is Ramon, my Number One bodyguard. Nice kid – if you like that type.”

Scott grinned weakly. “Uh, hi, Ramon. How’s the world treating you?”

As he chatted, the other four entered the room, and Kelly introduced: “Uh, gentlemen, this is my man, Alexander Scott. M’man, these are my bodyguards: Luis, Francisco, Miguel, and Vitório. You, uh, remember Vitório?”

Scott nodded with a short, “Yep.”

“It is a shame, señor,” Vitório smiled, “that you did not remain at home, safe. We have no, uh, argument with you.”

“Well, yeah,” Scott agreed, “but y’see, my man here was in trouble, so I had to come and see how he was making out.”

Vitório moved closer to jab his pistol into Scott’s ribs. “I am afraid then, señor, that you have involved yourself in a very ugly predicament.” Patting Scott down, he smiled upon finding the automatic in the shoulder holster, and commented, “A right-handed holster for a man with a bad right arm?”

“Yeah well,” Scott shrugged mildly, “I feel naked without it.”

“As for you, Señor Robinson,” Ramon snapped, turning to their smiling captive, “we are tired of your games and tricks.” Viciously he swiped the Luger across Kelly’s face, and with a grunt, Kelly strained away.

In alarm, Scott started forward, but the knife-edge of a hand smashed him in the liver unexpectedly, and gasping for breath against the shock of the blow, he swayed back dazedly. Then abruptly a fist in the stomach doubled him over, followed by a brutal blow to the jaw that staggered him into a wall.

While Ramon’s Luger held Kelly helpless, the other three moved in on Scott lying in the corner of the room.

In defense, Scott tried to rise, but before his balance could right itself, he was grabbed and pressed flat on his back. A sharp twinge of pain jabbed through his injured shoulder, and with a wince he tried to pull away. Viciously a fist in the belly interrupted his struggles.

A moan parted his lips; then twisting against the stunning blows, he tried to draw up his knees to protect himself, but the men held him down while the savage fists pounded away at his gut.

With one eye on the Luger at his head, Kelly watched his partner brutally beaten before him.

Scott took a blow to the jaw, then the goons started working on his stomach again, while he grunted with each punch and squirmed helplessly.

For just a moment, Ramon’s gaze left Kelly, and in that instant Kelly lunged out, ducking at the same time to get away from the muzzle fire. But Ramon was a split-second faster, and with a sharp motion, he cracked Kelly over the head once more with the barrel.

Then to the men on top of Scott, he snapped, “That is enough. Tell Señora Martinez we have another guest, and ask her what she wishes done with him.”

Without a word, Luis stepped out, then the others dragged Scott to his feet and pushed him onto the bed beside Robinson. Still reeling from his own pain, Kelly tried to assist Scott to sit up. Limply Scott collapsed across the bed.

“Now, Señor Robinson,” Ramon smiled, levelling the pistol on Scott, “although you did not care to save yourself pain by answering our questions, perhaps you feel differently toward your friend, yes?”

“No,” Scott murmured in response for his partner, and quickly Ramon shot a glance at one of the guards standing over the husky black man.

At the click of a switchblade beside his ear, Scott stiffened and caught his breath. Robinson’s face tightened but he dared not move.

“Tell us about the spy network in Madrid,” the Spaniard urged gently. “Who are your comrades here?”

But neither answered, and sharply the knifed flicked a scratch across Scott’s cheek. With a gasp, he jerked his head back, then hissed to his partner, “Don’t tell ‘em nothin’, man.”

“No,” Kelly agreed mechanically.

“We can do a great deal of damage to you both if you resist us.”

Scott’s eyes looked out dully. “Go ahead. You will anyway.”

“You are very stubborn, señores.”

“Yeah, that’s what we’ve been told.”

“Foolishly stubborn. I had hoped we could be civil about this.”

“Sure you did.”

Roughly Ramon yanked the sling off Scott’s arm, and Scott’s lips tightened in pain. Then pushing Scott down on his face, their interrogator grasped his injured arm and twisted it up behind his back with such a savage jerk that the black man almost screamed.

“Now, Señor Robinson” Ramon smiled. “Now will you talk?”

Struggling to push his face up off the dusty blanket, Scott managed between set teeth, “No, Kelly, don’t…” A yank of his arm interrupted him in mid-sentence.

Watching the Spaniard through half-lidded eyes, Robinson commented mildly, “Y’know, Scotty’s right. After you’ve gotten what you want from us, you’ll just, uh… how do they put it, Scotty?”

“Dispose of us without delay,” Scott finished, trying to fight down the hot torture in his shoulder.

“That’s right,” Robinson continued, “You’ll just drop us anyway. Uh, so it’s, uh, no dice from this end.”

Ramon’s grip on Scott’s arm tightened. “But your last moments can be pleasant, or very painful.”

“Yeah, but in the end we’re just as dead.”

“And can any moments be pleasant,” Scott added, “around the present company?”

The Spaniard leaned close to his ear. “Talk, señor, or I shall tear open your wounds again. And you will not like that at all.”

“No, I probably won’t.” And setting himself for the torture, Scott waited for Ramon to begin.

But before business could commence, Luis reëntered the room. “The señora says not to harm the guests,” he announced, and Ramon abruptly released Scott. “And she wishes to see them immediately.”

“Oh oh, you were bad boys,” Kelly smiled, holding his trembling partner. “The señora isn’t going to like it at all that you were mean to us. Hey, Scotty, you hangin’ in there, man?”

Eyes closed, Scott held his wounded arm tenderly. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, here, let’s fix you up, so you’ll be nice and neat for our hostess. Here we go.” And after straightening Scott’s coat, Kelly replaced the sling and tied it comfortably. “Now, how’s that?”

“Fine… thanks.”

Again the Luger appeared. “All right, señores.” Ramon smiled tightly. “Shall we go?”

“Y’know, really man,” Kelly remarked to his partner, as they were prodded out by the gun muzzles in their backs, “this is the way to travel.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,. Staying in a mansion with a beautiful woman, and a whole slew of very attentive servants, and free room and board…”

Scott held his wounded arm. “Oh, I don’t know. My nice quiet hospital room seems awfully good now.”

“Aw, c’mon, man!” Kelly made a face. “Don’t you wanna live dangerously? Stare death right in the face?”

“No, I don’t. Getting’ too old for that kind of stuff.”

“Gee. No more spirit, huh?”

“That’s right, man. When we get home, I hope they put me out to pasture. This exciting life is too much for me anymore.”

Slouching indifferently against the jab of the pistol in his kidneys urging him through the long corridors, Kelly kept up the banter. “What’s the matter? Don’t you like all the shooting and beating up, and third-degree, and all that?”

“Not when we’re always on the receiving end every time.”

“Yes, you, uh, do have a point there, sir.”

“I thought so,” Scott agreed.

When they reached their destination, Ramon pushed the door open, then wiggled the Luger at the pair. “Enter, if you please, señores.”

“Thank you, doorman,” Robinson smiled with a nod, following his partner into the library.

Señora Lucia Martinez was gazing out the window when they stepped in, and turning with a pleasant smile, greeted, “Good evening, señores. How are you?” Then eyeing their bruised faces, she sympathized, “Oh, I’m sorry to see you must have gotten on Ramon’s bad side again.”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Scott commented casually.

“He’s got a good side?” Kelly questioned.

A tiny smile played on her lips. “Well, if you just watch your step, he’s really not that… difficult to get along with.” And strolling closer to Scott, she looked him over, then reached up to his face. “You must be Alexander Scott. Why, you’re as good-looking as Mr. Robinson.”

“Well, actually, I always thought I was the better-looking one,” he riposted mildly.

“I do hope your arm is getting better.”

“It’s trying to.”

Indicating a couple of chairs, she offered graciously, “Please, be seated. You both must be very weary.”

Without a word, Kelly waited, standing astride, and pretending to be studying the far corner of the ceiling.

“Well, Mr. Robinson,” the low purr interrupted his fascinated contemplation, “I trust you’re feeling better tonight?”

He shrugged. “Not really. In fact, I’ve got a nasty headache right now, and your boys are just making it worse.”

A little laugh parted her lips, and slipping long fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, she studied his face appraisingly. Sensually her fingers twisted through his hair, then rubbed down over his shoulder and arm. Kelly released a tight breath.

As the woman strolled around him, his gaze dropped to the floor to follow her movement. Touching his shoulder, she paused in front of him again and smiled, then reached a warm hand up to his cheek. Coolly he watched her, arms hanging quietly at his sides. Her fingers stroked his face, as their eyes locked, then traced up the back of his head through thick brown waves.

He didn’t interrupt her flirtations. In fact, far from being unpleasant, the petting and the perfume and the woman made quite a heady combination.

Then, pressing his face down to hers, she kissed him full on the mouth for several long seconds, then worked a hand up his back beneath the tight t-shirt. The tiny smile still tugged her lips.

“Yes, you are indeed quite handsome, Mr. Robinson,” she murmured.

“And you’re very lovely,” Kelly returned blandly. “But surely this isn’t all why you had us brought here, is it?”

“No,” she agreed, “no, it isn’t.”

He could feel her hands pushing his shirt up and fingers rubbing over his chest; and he glanced at his partner relaxing in an overstuffed chair. Scott was watching the scene with amused half-interest.

“I brought you here,” the woman continued, “because I have finally decided how justice might best be served.” Warmly she pressed against him. “Since you killed my husband, it’s only fitting that you take his place. I want you for my lover.”

Eyes shifting from Scott to the attractive blonde, Robinson only commented, “Are you trying to proposition me in front of my friend?”

“Not quite,” she murmured. “I’m telling you.”

Kelly shrugged, and let out an explosive breath. “Well, okay,” he conceded. “All righty. Now, what about my man here?”

Scott smiled as the woman looked at him and moved closer to his chair. Again she caressed his face. “Although we don’t blame Señor Scott for Don Antonio’s death, we can’t release him either, because he would tell your people where you are. Therefore, he will remain our guest.”

. . . . .

 _to be continued_ … _someday_ …

 

 

 


End file.
